The Sinclair Protocol – My Delivery Girl is a Private Military Queen
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 11: Ambush
Part 1: Road Games
Private Access Road to Sinclair Global HQ
The morning sunlight filtered through bulletproof glass as their Rolls-Royce Phantom navigated the winding private road. Liv’s dangerous smile remained as she reviewed the financial devastation scrolling across her secure tablet.
“Another ten percent drop,” her voice carried pure silk. “Poor Marcus must be having quite the morning-“
The driver’s sudden swerve cut her analysis short as two black SUVs emerged from the tree line, boxing in their vehicle with practiced precision. Through secure channels, James’s voice carried professional urgency.
“Contact rear and front, ma’am. Hostile approach pattern. Secondary team moving through the woods on your right flank.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into tactical assessment as he noted the vehicles’ positioning. “No plates. Professional formation. This isn’t some random attempt.”
“Of course not,” Liv’s laugh held lethal amusement as she secured her tablet. “Marcus always did prefer sending others to handle his problems. Though,” her smile turned predatory, “he seems to have forgotten who actually designed his security protocols.”
The morning sunlight caught flashes of tactical movement as armed figures emerged from the SUVs. Their formation spoke of professional training – not common mercenaries, but specialized operators executing a carefully planned assault.
“Six on the ground,” James reported through secure channels. “Two more in overwatch positions on the ridge. Pattern suggests private military background.”
The Phantom’s reinforced chassis absorbed the first impact as the lead SUV forced them toward the guardrail. Through the bulletproof glass, Liv caught glimpses of matte-black weapons and tactical gear.
“Interesting choice of timing,” her voice held dangerous silk as she activated her secure phone. “Though their approach pattern seems… familiar.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed lethal focus as he assessed their options. “The same formation Thorne Security uses for high-value target acquisition. Someone’s been sharing protocols.”
“Four more hostiles moving through the tree line,” James added with professional precision. “They’re attempting to herd you toward the ravine checkpoint.”
The morning sunlight shattered into chaos as the crack of a sniper shot pierced their armored cocoon. Their driver slumped forward, the Phantom’s reinforced steering column failing to compensate as the vehicle careened toward the ravine edge.
“Contact high left,” James’s voice carried professional urgency through secure channels. “Sierra team moving to counter-sniper position.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic training showed as he lunged for the wheel, but physics had already claimed control. The Phantom’s two-tonne bulk spun violently, its armor working against them as momentum carried them into the guardrail.
“Impact in three,” Liv’s voice held dangerous calm as she braced herself. “Deploying countermeasures now.”
The world turned sideways as their vehicle crashed through the barrier, the morning light spinning across bulletproof glass now webbed with impact patterns. The Phantom’s safety systems engaged, but nothing could fully cushion the brutal roll down the embankment.
Through secure channels, James maintained contact: “Primary vehicle compromised. QRF team inbound. Hold position.”
The morning light fractured through shattered bulletproof glass as Liv moved with dangerous precision. Her Chanel suit was torn but her movements remained lethal grace as she pulled their driver’s body behind the Phantom’s ruined bulk.
Two fingers pressed against his carotid artery confirmed what the sniper’s precision had already determined. The entry wound was professionally placed – a clean shot through the reinforced glass that should have been impossible at this angle.
“Status,” her voice carried pure silk through secure channels despite the blood trickling from her temple.
“Overwatch confirms four shooters moving down the ravine,” James reported with professional urgency. “QRF team three minutes out. Sierra team has eyes on the sniper position but no clear shot.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed calculated focus as he took cover on the opposite side of their ruined vehicle. The morning air carried traces of cordite and spilled fuel as their attackers moved into position.
Through secure channels, Liv’s voice held lethal precision: “Driver confirmed down. Professional hit. They’re using our own counter-sniper protocols.”
The morning light caught Liv’s expression as it transformed into something lethal. Blood from her temple wound painted a crimson line across features now carved from burning ice. Their driver’s death had crossed a line – one that Marcus would learn to regret.
“James,” her voice carried pure winter through secure channels. “Activate Protocol Avalanche. No survivors this time.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed dangerous appreciation as he recognized the code. Through their secure link, James’s response held professional satisfaction:
“Protocol Avalanche confirmed, ma’am. Sierra team repositioning for maximum effect. QRF approaching from multiple vectors.”
The morning air crackled with tension as their attackers moved closer, still believing they held the advantage. They couldn’t see Liv’s predatory smile as she activated certain contingencies on her secure phone.
“They used our protocols to kill one of our own,” her voice held arctic precision. “Let’s show them exactly why that was their last mistake.”
Part 2: Ice Queen’s Gambit
Private Access Road to Sinclair Global HQ – Ravine Edge
The morning light shattered as the RPG struck their abandoned Phantom, transforming the armored sanctuary into a fireball. Liv and Sebastian had cleared the blast radius by mere seconds, her ice-cold instincts proving lethal once again.
“Multiple hostiles, nine o’clock,” James’s voice carried professional precision through secure channels. “RPG team repositioning for second shot.”
The morning air crackled with automatic fire as their attackers pressed their advantage. Bullets sparked off rocks around them as Liv and Sebastian took cover behind a natural outcropping, her Chanel suit now streaked with dirt and blood.
“Sierra One engaging sniper team,” James reported. “QRF approaching from north and east vectors. Two minutes out.”
Through the chaos, Liv’s burning ice expression never wavered as she activated her final contingency code. “James, release Protocol Avalanche Phase Two. Authorization: Ice Queen.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed lethal appreciation as multiple explosions lit the ridge line. Their attackers’ carefully planned escape routes disappearing in precisely calculated detonations.
“Fascinating,” Liv’s voice held arctic satisfaction as screams echoed from above. “They’re using our protocols, but forgot who designed the countermeasures.”
The morning light caught splinters of bark as the sniper round crashed into the tree millimeters from Liv’s head. Her burning ice expression never wavered as she calculated the shot’s trajectory, her Harvard-trained mind turning combat geometry into survival data.
“Sierra Two reports second sniper team, northwest ridge,” James’s voice carried lethal precision through secure channels. “Using modified Barrett M82s. Military-grade hardware.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed dangerous focus as he pulled Liv deeper into cover, his body instinctively shielding her even as she analyzed their tactical position.
“The round fragmentation pattern,” her voice held arctic calculation despite the near miss. “They’re using our own custom ammunition. Marcus isn’t just using our protocols – he’s accessed the secure armory specifications.”
Through secure channels, James confirmed: “QRF sixty seconds out. Sierra One engaging primary sniper team. Multiple hostiles still advancing from the south slope.”
The morning light caught the lethal grace of Liv’s movement as she stepped from cover, her burning ice expression focused with surgical precision. The Beretta in her perfectly manicured hand moved like it was part of her body, each motion calculated to quarter-second accuracy.
The team leader’s skull exploded in a precise pattern, his tactical mask shattering as the custom round found its mark. His body dropped mid-command, radio still keyed.
The heavy weapons specialist’s head snapped back, the hollow-point round creating a devastating exit wound. His RPG launcher clattered down the ravine slope, fingers still curled around the trigger.
The combat medic’s throat disappeared in a spray of arterial red, the round striking exactly where his ballistic collar met flesh. His medical kit spilled open as he fell, combat gauze unrolling like macabre party streamers.
“Three confirmed eliminations,” her voice held arctic satisfaction. “Custom loadout performing exactly to specifications.”
Sebastian’s aristocratic features showed dangerous appreciation as he watched his wife’s handiwork. Through secure channels, James added: “Remaining hostiles breaking formation, ma’am. Their combat footage shows… significant psychological impact.”
The morning light caught the aftermath of Liv’s lethal precision as Sebastian’s aristocratic training revealed its own deadly edge. Two attackers had tried flanking while focused on the socialite heiress’s devastating display – their last tactical error.
His first target never saw the attack coming. Sebastian’s combat knife found the gap between tactical vest and throat with surgical accuracy, centuries of Blackwood military tradition evident in every movement. The man dropped without a sound, radio clicking uselessly.
The second attacker managed half a turn before Sebastian’s elbow crushed his larynx, followed by a precise thrust that severed the spinal cord at the base of the skull. His tactical gear had been top-tier, but useless against close-quarter combat techniques perfected in private European military academies.
“Two more confirmed eliminations,” Liv’s voice held arctic appreciation as she covered Sebastian’s movement. “Quite impressive, darling.”
Through secure channels, James reported: “Remaining hostiles in full retreat, ma’am. They appear… significantly demoralized by the Blackwoods’ combined response.”
The morning air carried traces of cordite and growing silence as their attackers processed the lethal reality of their situation. Sometimes, the most effective moment in combat wasn’t in individual kills – but in demonstrating exactly why the Blackwood-Sinclair alliance was more than just a financial merger.
The sniper round hit with devastating precision. Sebastian’s left shoulder disintegrated in a spray of bone fragments and arterial blood, the custom armor-piercing ammunition designed to shred tissue on impact. The force slammed him against the rock face, leaving a crimson smear as he slid down.
Part 3: Final Moves
The morning light caught each droplet of Blackwood blood as it painted patterns across the granite. The wound was a perfect demonstration of their own military-grade ammunition’s effectiveness – a ragged hole nearly three inches wide, edges shredded by the round’s deliberate fragmentation.
“Subclavian artery intact,” Liv’s voice held clinical precision as she assessed the damage. “But severe tissue trauma. The round expanded exactly as designed.”
Sebastian’s breath came in controlled bursts as blood soaked through his ruined Savile Row suit, turning the charcoal wool black. The exit wound was even more devastating – a five-inch crater that spoke of exactly why these particular rounds had been classified as restricted use.
The morning light painted crimson shadows across Sebastian’s blood-soaked suit as a single shot cracked through the air. Through secure channels, James’s voice carried lethal satisfaction: “Sierra Four confirms sniper eliminated. Clean headshot, ma’am.”
But before Liv could process the tactical shift, cold steel pressed against the base of her skull. The last surviving attacker had moved like liquid shadow, his combat training evident in how perfectly he’d exploited her moment of concern for Sebastian.
“Not another move,” his voice carried professional detachment, the barrel of his custom Sig Sauer P226 steady against her head. “Though I must say, your combat performance was… impressive for a socialite.”
The morning air still carried the copper scent of Sebastian’s blood as Liv remained perfectly still, her burning ice expression never wavering. The attacker’s tactical gear showed signs of their earlier combat – blood spatters from his fallen teammates, scorch marks from the Phantom’s explosion.
Through secure channels, James reported with precise tension: “No clean shot on the final hostile, ma’am. QRF still three minutes out.”
The morning light caught the transformation in Liv’s expression as her burning ice shattered into pure rage. Sebastian’s blood still soaked the ground, each crimson drop feeding a fury that had nothing to do with her socialite facade.
“You bastards,” her voice carried lethal precision despite the gun pressed to her head, “have made your last mistake. First our driver. Then my husband. Did your employer even bother to check whose security systems you were trying to breach?”
The attacker’s professional composure wavered slightly at her tone. Through secure channels, James maintained tactical updates: “QRF approaching from multiple vectors, ma’am. Sierra Teams repositioning.”
“The socialite act was convincing,” the man’s Sig Sauer remained steady. “But it ends here.”
Liv’s laugh held pure venom as her Harvard-trained mind calculated angles, trajectories, kill zones. “No,” her voice turned to pure predator. “What ends here is this pathetic attempt to use my own security protocols against me. Tell me,” her rage burned colder with each word, “did your employer mention who actually designed the combat response systems you’re using?”
The morning light caught the attacker’s shift in attention as he turned his Sig Sauer toward Sebastian’s bleeding form. “Perhaps watching him die will make you more cooperative-“
Everything shattered.
Liv’s burning rage exploded into something primal, something that had nothing to do with Harvard degrees or socialite masks. The gun at her head became irrelevant as she moved with lethal fury, her body responding to thousands of hours of combat training now unleashed without restraint.
Her elbow crushed his larynx before he could squeeze the trigger. The Sig Sauer clattered away as she continued her movement, driving armored knuckles into his orbital socket with enough force to splinter bone. His tactical mask cracked under the impact of her next strike, blood spraying across her Chanel suit.
“You,” each word punctuated by another devastating blow, “don’t,” his knee shattered under her precise strike, “touch,” ribs cracking as she drove him to the ground, “my,” her fingers found his throat with surgical accuracy, “husband.”
Through secure channels, James maintained professional calm: “QRF one minute out, ma’am. Though… it appears the situation is under control.”
The morning light caught flecks of blood across Liv’s Chanel suit as she released her iron grip on the attacker’s shattered throat. Her burning rage shifted into something more focused as she turned back to Sebastian’s pale form.
“James,” her voice carried lethal urgency through secure channels. “Get the damn medic here now. Sebastian’s lost too much blood.” Her Harvard-trained mind calculated the spreading crimson stain beneath her husband. “That custom round did exactly what it was designed to do.”
“Medical team incoming with QRF, ma’am. Thirty seconds out. Doctor Chen is leading the response personally.”
Liv’s hands pressed fresh combat gauze against Sebastian’s devastating shoulder wound, her fury transforming into precise medical pressure. The morning air still carried the copper scent of Blackwood blood as she monitored his weakening pulse.
“Stay with me, darling,” her voice held dangerous silk as she heard approaching helicopters. “Because when you’re stable,” her eyes turned purely predatory, “we’re going to have a very detailed discussion about who tried to kill my husband.”
The morning light caught the controlled chaos as the medical team rappelled from the hovering helicopter. Doctor Chen’s precise movements spoke of countless emergency responses as he took in Sebastian’s condition with professional urgency.
“GSW to left shoulder, custom AP round,” Liv’s voice held dangerous focus as she briefed the trauma team. “Through-and-through with severe tissue disruption. Subclavian intact but significant blood loss.”
“Starting large-bore IV access,” Chen’s hands moved with surgical precision. “Push two units O-neg and begin damage control protocol seven.” His experienced eyes assessed the devastating wound pattern. “Our ammunition did exactly what it was designed to do.”
Through secure channels, James maintained tactical updates: “Perimeter secured, ma’am. QRF teams sweeping the area. Prisoner secure but… significantly damaged.”
Liv’s burning rage simmered beneath her clinical exterior as she watched Chen’s team stabilize her husband. Her Chanel suit was ruined with multiple blood types – Sebastian’s crimson mixed with her attacker’s darker stains.
“Blood pressure stabilizing,” Chen reported as they prepared for transport. “Though whoever used our custom rounds knew exactly where to aim for maximum effect.”
